


The Sacrosanct Chapters

by anabel



Category: Nero Wolfe - Rex Stout
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Missing Scene, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:34:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28087050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anabel/pseuds/anabel
Summary: Eight chapters Archie Goodwin never puts in his books.
Relationships: Archie Goodwin/Nero Wolfe
Comments: 14
Kudos: 28
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	The Sacrosanct Chapters

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KannaOphelia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KannaOphelia/gifts).



There are some chapters Archie Goodwin never puts in his books.

~*~

i.

The red leather chair has seated many a convicted murderer. Every time they have a case conference, Archie keeps a wary eye on its occupant; he ran the statistics one time and the red leather chair was the most dangerous by a country mile.

Today its occupant is Archie, and he is in no position to be keeping a wary eye on anything.

“Fuck,” he says, letting his head tip back to rest on the red leather. 

Wolfe is on his knees, between Archie’s thighs, looking oddly graceful. It’s his supreme focus, the way he inhabits his body so solidly, every fiber of his being devoted to his current pursuit - which is, in so many words, to drive Archie wild. 

“Fucking _do it_ ,” Archie says, barely coherent. 

He can’t see Wolfe’s face, not with his own eyes shut so tightly he’s seeing stars, but he can feel the curve of Wolfe’s smirk against the inside of his thigh, and the sharp nip of Wolfe’s teeth as he marks the tender skin. 

Wolfe skates the tip of one finger along Archie’s length, and Archie breathes through the throb of his desire, fighting the urge to beg. He knows he’s impatient, but sometimes he thinks Wolfe enjoys tormenting him almost a little _too_ much. For Wolfe, sex is like dinner: sacrosanct and to be savored at great length.

“Patience,” Wolfe says, his voice a rumble, and touches his tongue lightly just where Archie wants him most.

“I hate you sometimes,” Archie says, and cups the back of Wolfe’s head with a gentle hand that says anything but.

~*~

ii.

Archie is counting each tick of the clock. If Wolfe started downstairs from the orchids exactly at eleven, he should be entering the office in approximately sixty seconds. 

This is a good thing, because Archie is starting to get a little chilly.

He hears the door open, knows without looking that it’s Wolfe. First, because Fritz somehow deduced long ago, without ever being explicitly told, that he should no longer enter the office without knocking. Second, because he knows the sound of Wolfe’s tread upon the floor, light for a heavy man, like a panther. Third, because Wolfe is wearing the cologne Archie gave him for his birthday, barely a hint but unmistakably his.

“Archie.” The tone is unfathomable.

“Thought you might like an extra after-birthday present,” Archie says, casually stretching his back a little. He knows his best angles.

“I work at that desk.”

Archie resists the urge to look over his shoulder. “I know. Want to know how many boring interviews I’ve thought about doing this?”

Wolfe sighs. It’s his affectionate sigh, the one that Archie mentally labels as Archie Is Doing Archie Things Again. “Come here.”

“Promise to fuck me over the desk later?” Archie asks, stepping over his discarded clothes.

Wolfe raises his eyes to the heavens.

(But later he does, and Archie holds on for dear life, and loves every second of it.)

~*~

iii.

Being in bed with Wolfe is overwhelming, in the best possible way. He’s warm and large and solid, and the curves of his body make Archie’s blood race. 

Archie’s always been the larger partner in his previous relationships, gone for small dames with long legs and twinkles in their eyes. He’s not a big guy himself, though he likes to keep fit, and he’s always been the one to stoop his head down for a kiss, or curl himself in a protective cocoon around a lady’s back. 

Now he’s the smaller one, and the rush of arousal it brings is a heady feeling. He never knew before how much he would like to be pressed into the bed by his partner’s weight, or to be mastered by someone whose strength outstretches his own. Wolfe can pin him to the bed, and there’s nothing Archie can do about it – not that he wants to, not that he’s not enjoying every single second of this voluntary cessation of control. 

Today he pushes Wolfe back into the covers. “My turn to drive.”

Wolfe reclines, his eyes hooded. He likes to watch Archie; it gives Archie delightful shivers, to be the focus of Wolfe’s undivided attention, to know that he is stripping his lover down to the primal urges that for so long he wasn’t sure Wolfe even felt. 

Turnabout is fair play. Wolfe loves to draw sex out, to make a multi-course feast of it, and Archie intends to return the favor. Every ample, beloved curve before him is his, all his, and he intends to kiss and worship every inch before he lets Wolfe find release.

He leans in for a kiss, dirty and quick, a promise more than anything.

Then he pinches Wolfe’s nipple and, grinning, swallows Wolfe’s gasp.

~*~

iv.

Cramer calls to read them the riot act about withholding evidence and interfering in a police investigation. Archie _might_ have told him Wolfe was busy in the kitchen with Fritz, but then he might have showed up in person, and also Wolfe wants to try to trick a piece of information out of him. 

But just because Wolfe has to listen to Cramer’s tirade doesn’t mean Archie has to.

He gets up and comes around Wolfe’s desk, elaborately casual. 

The flare of Wolfe’s nostrils makes him grin. He arches an eyebrow and drops to his knees, putting a hand on Wolfe’s thigh in a silent command. 

“I see, Inspector,” Wolfe says, and opens his legs for Archie. 

However long Cramer’s call takes, Archie will keep busy. Wolfe will just have to multitask.

(At the crucial moment, Wolfe shoves his hand in his mouth and bites down hard, closing his eyes and riding it out in silence. “Are you even listening to me, Wolfe?” Cramer barks through the phone, loud enough that Archie can hear from two feet away, and Archie – who has a hand on himself at that point – could tell him that no, he’s not.)

~*~

v.

One morning over pancakes, Fritz brings up the subject of improving the brownstone. For a few confusing moments, Archie thinks that Fritz wants to bring in a Mrs. Fritz and start a family, which is a horrifying mental image – he’s not sure if Wolfe would be more aghast at losing Fritz or at losing his peace and quiet, but either way it would be a terrible loss – but it turns out it’s not that at all.

Fritz, very delicately but very surely, expresses the fact that the office is soundproofed, and perhaps they could soundproof other rooms in the house as well. Just in case, ehm, Mr. Wolfe ever wanted to interview subjects in other rooms, and soundproofing was desired.

Archie, who suddenly remembers driving Wolfe to such depths of passion the previous night that he bellowed “ _Move_ , Archie!” (as well as various incomprehensible things in Montenegrin), feels like he turns about eighty-five shades of purple, and falls over himself promising to soundproof every room in the house.

After all, they may want to fuck in every room in the house. And Fritz doesn’t need to know about it.

~*~

vi.

Lily catches him sitting in Wolfe’s lap, because of _course_ she does. Fritz must have let her in, and Lily doesn’t believe in knocking. 

(Usually Archie would have heard the front door and been out of Wolfe’s lap before she waltzed in, but today he was busily occupied sucking a mark onto Wolfe’s collarbone. Neither one of them was listening for unexpected visitors.)

“Oh!” Lily says from the doorway, and then “ _OH_.”

Archie, fully compromised and in no way ready for company if he _did_ leap off Wolfe’s lap, chooses to remain seated. “Lily,” he says. Wolfe is rigid underneath him. “Could you, uh, come back later? Please.”

“Of course,” she says, recovering her aplomb. “And I’ll bring champagne!”

“Sorry,” Archie says to Wolfe, when the front door slams.

“You aren’t responsible for Miss Rowan,” Wolfe says. Then, “Champagne?”

Archie rests his head against Wolfe’s. Wolfe’s arm is curved around his back, holding him close. “Lily may be aware that I’ve been in love with you for forever. She says I look at you the way you look at Fritz’s dinners.”

“And you didn’t tell her that we had found our way to each other?”

Archie thinks that’s quite poetic. “Not without your permission.”

Wolfe takes his chin in one big hand and kisses him.

(Later, they have Lily over for dinner, and drink her champagne. Archie watches Wolfe exert himself to be his most charming host, and loves him all the more for it.)

~*~

vii.

“So you shot him,” Wolfe says, his voice heavy.

The girl in the red leather chair clutches her purse to her, but her face is set and resolute. “I love Robert,” she says, starkly, as if it’s just that simple. “I had to.”

It was self-defense; she is in no danger from Cramer. But she’ll have to live with it for the rest of her days, the fact that she killed a man.

“Have you ever loved someone that much?” she asks Wolfe suddenly. “So much you’d kill for them?”

Archie doesn’t look in his direction, but he feels a soft smile pull at his mouth, because he knows the answer.

“Yes,” Wolfe says.

~*~


End file.
